


abandon ship

by lilabut



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake Marriage, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta never had to return to the arena for the Quarter Quell. Instead, they had to keep up the romance for Panem, like Katniss feared they would. They got married, are mentors to the tributes of District 12, and Katniss starts to lose herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	abandon ship

**Abandon Ship**

I’m the fire and you’re the flame

Feeling put out, whose to blame?

Still I find myself misplaced

Lost in someone else I feel erased

Abandon ship before it’s too late

Or all this love I’ve got will turn into pain,

You’re not so very far away

But I feel more distant with each passing day

I’m alone

**_Abandon Ship_ , Sorry Kisses**

Sharp wind blows through the broken glass of the window, upsetting the layer of dust, dirt and crunched, dry leafs on the floor. Swirls dance across the weathered wood, whispering along the howling wind.

 

My arms are wrapped tightly around my knees, pulled as close to my chest as possible, chin resting on them, eyes focussed on the empty bottles in front of me. I ignore the dirt that continues to cover my shoes, my pants, dancing around the bottles like flames.

 

Flames. _The girl on fire_.

 

It feels like a century has passed since those words described me – passionate, fiery, strong. Whatever flame had been ignited in me back then are suffocated by now, leaving behind nothing but worthless ashes of the past.

 

Footsteps suddenly mingle with the howling of the wind, but I ignore them – just keep staring ahead, hoping that, if I just pretend not to be here, the outside world will leave me in peace. Not notice my existence. Close my eyes and let the world disappear.

 

“I’ve been looking for you.”

 

I would always recognize this voice, maybe even deaf, its presence would be strong enough to warm my chest from the inside, calm me down. He stops in the doorway – I can see him moving in my peripheral vision, dressed in something dark, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“Your mother is kind of mad that you aren’t home, helping her with dinner, you know. Or generally, that you haven’t said hello yet.”

 

Part of me wants to react, wants to scramble up from the floor and run towards him, hug him. Just be in his arms for a short while. It’s been weeks since I have last seen him. He had been assigned longer shifts in the mines, and what little spare time he has, he mostly spends with Madge, hunting not a possibility anymore. Madge had invited me over for dinner many times, but I can not think of a single time I accepted. As happy was I am for them, for some happiness in both of their lives, seeing them hurts too much.

 

I had caught a glimpse of Gale on reaping day three weeks ago, sprinting down the hallway in the Mayor’s house. But I had had no time to follow him, the train waiting to bring Peeta, the two trembling children and me to the Capitol.

 

Maple and Emrys. Their faces suddenly flash in front of my eyes. The shiver that runs through my veins feels as violent and brutal as acid, pumping rapidly through my system. Relentless. Merciless.

 

“You okay?”

 

Slow, careful steps approach me, and I try to ban the children’s scared faces out of my mind. The screams. The blood. The coffins.

 

“Go away,” I murmur against my knee, voice muffled by the fabric.

 

“Why?” Gale asks, kneeling beside me, keeping the distance that has been between us ever since I returned from my own Games. Like an invisible wall between us. A barrier we have never been able to overcome again.

 

I’m too exhausted to discuss, or defend myself, or speak at all, really. The words that escape me require effort I barely have left.

 

“Just go.”

 

“Only if you give me a good reason,” Gale says plainly, and I can feel his gaze piercing me, “It’s cold in here.”

 

“It is?” I ask, not turning my eyes away from the empty bottles. Gale is moving beside me, and only when I feel the warmth of his jacket enveloping me as he rests it over my shoulders do I realize the shiver in my bones, the goose bumps covering my entire skin.

 

“Catnip-“

 

The name, the gentle sound of Gale’s voice – they feel like knives inside me, cutting open scars that have never really healed.

 

“No, please, Gale. Just… leave,” I interrupt him, fighting the part of me that never wants him to stop speaking, that craves the sound of his voice, “I can’t – there is nothing you can do. I can’t tell you.”

 

The deep breath I take to calm myself down backfires when my nose fills with his scent, the worn-out leather of his jacket, the faint smell of woods and coal.

 

“That not true, and you know that. You can tell me anything.”

 

For a second I believe him, because it has been true one day. When we were just two kids hunting in the woods. Then I remember that those times have long since passed, have ended the moment I volunteered to die for my little sister.

 

“No.” It’s colder than I intended, the anger that fills the short word not directed at Gale, but at everything, every single small thing that went so utterly wrong in my life.

 

“Why?” If I hurt him with the coldness in my word, Gale shows no sign of it. It’s more frustration that echoes in the aftermath of his question.

 

I hesitate. Every word I say bears a potential threat, secrets that – revealed – could cost so many innocent lives. But the overwhelming need to just speak the truth, to share the burden, is a threat of itself, always dangling on the edge of exploding out of me, fighting its way into freedom.

 

“Because I can’t tell anybody,” I finally whisper, raising my chin just enough so my voice will not be muffled by my pants,” Because I’m afraid that once I say it out loud, I’m just going to…”

 

I find no words to explain, to finish the sentence, and I immediately regret to have opened my mouth in the first place.

 

“What?”

 

I want to tell him everything so badly. From the Games, to the dead children, to all the lies, all the stories I had to tell, all the choices that were taken from me.

 

“I just – I came here to… Gale, I just need a place to be myself and I have to be… alone for that.”

 

It’s too much, he will just keep asking, I know that. My fingertips dig deep into the fabric covering my shin, cursing myself for ever speaking a word.

 

“What do you mean, _be yourself_?”

 

What _do_ I mean? Who am I? Still the girl who lost her father and spent days in the woods trying to keep her family alive? The girl who pretended in front of the entire nation? The girl on fire? The girl who won the Hunger Games? A victor? A mentor? A wife? A liar?

 

“I’m gone, Gale,” is all I can mumble, “There’s nothing… It’s all a lie. Everything I do, or say, it’s all a lie and I just need a few minutes when I don’t have to lie and be someone else, so please… Leave.”

 

He is going to die. The thought keeps wandering through my mind, like a parasite, filling me with fear and draining me of life. He cares too much, always has.

 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Gale says confused, moving a bit closer to me, sitting by my side now, “What lie, Katniss? Why do you want me to go? I’m still your friend.”

 

I squeeze my eyes shut, white spots appearing in the darkness, blurred faces rushing by – never leaving me alone. Tears gather, but I fight hard to keep them at bay. He is thinking all wrong. I lied to him so many times, every day. Denied him what I truly felt. I know, deep inside of me, that he deserves to know the truth. But is it worth the prize of possibly losing him?

 

“I don’t want you to go, Gale,” I whisper, trying to make him understand how important he is, unable to speak the words that linger on my tongue, aching to be spoken, “But when you’re here, I have to lie and I came here to just-”

 

“What lie, Catnip?” he interrupts me, his voice more impatient now.

 

“I can’t tell you, Gale. I just can’t… put that on you.”

 

“Maybe I can help,” Gale says quietly, and my eyes flutter open when I feel his hand rest on my upper arm, slipping just below his own jacket.

 

“No. You can’t,” I quickly answer, dropping my hands from around my legs onto the floor, feeling the layer of dirt beneath my skin.

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t want you to hate me, Gale,” I whisper, finally finding the courage to turn my head. Gale looks at me, his grey eyes softer than I thought they would be, watching me with concern, his lips pulled into the faint hint of a sad smile.

 

“I _love_ you, Catnip.”

 

It is as much of a whisper as my own words, but somehow, impossibly, they sound like a desperate scream inside my head, scratching fingernails against the rocky crevice we are trapped in. My eyes widen as the truth behind his words starts sinking in like acid into an open wound, and his broken smile stretches a tiny bit more.

 

“You didn’t think I’d just stop loving you because you married the baker boy, right?”

 

It is the last drop. Tears start streaming down my face before I can hold them back. I just stare ahead, feeling the wetness seep down my cold skin. Gale moves quickly, his free hand holding on to my other arm, strangely pulling my upper body towards him, facing him, gripping me.

 

“Hey, sshh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude,” he says quickly, fingers moving up and down my arm.

 

“That’s not… You – you still love me?” I ask in disbelief, not understanding why he would -after everything that happened.

 

“Of course.” It sounds so strangely casual coming from his lips, like there really was no doubt why his feelings for me might have changed.

 

“What about Madge?” I ask, pushing aside my own lies and actions that shattered what we never really had, focussing on the sweet blonde girl with the happy smile on her face.

 

“I love her,” Gale answers, but it does not sound like a true declaration of love. More like a stated fact. Shallow. “In a way. She’s sweet and kind, but… She’s not you.”

 

I just look into his eyes for a while, the wind continuing to howl around us, and I start to make out raindrops drumming against the roof. Soft now, but the rusty smell in the air tells me that there is more to come.

 

“I’m sorry,” I finally whisper, barely breaking the silence. Gale just smiles at me again, his hands dropping until he catches my cold fingers in his, enveloping my hand in his.

 

“I’m not going to blame you for loving him more than you love me, Katniss,” he explains, and I can tell how hard he is trying to keep the bitterness out of his words, “I couldn’t force you to be with me.”

 

“I don’t love him more.” The words are spoken before Gale has really finished talking, and I feel the immediate agonizing clench inside my chest. But no matter how hard I try to be secretive, I can not keep on living any longer, knowing that Gale thinks I chose Peeta over him.

 

“What?” 

 

Gale’s eyes widen, hope, confusion and anger mixing in the grey pools I have looked into so many times before. But this time, I know this moment, this imagine, will burn itself into my memory. Will haunt me, just like all the other faces that I can not forget.

 

Suddenly, every single face flashes in front of my eyes, every tribute I remember, all those tributes I coached over the last years, coached to death, dead children, murdered children, the faces of the families, the look on the faces of those I killed myself – it hits me like a wall of bricks, crushing me.

 

Blackness takes over me, and I am pressed against Gale’s chest before I know what happens, his arms wrapped tightly around my thrashing body, trying to keep me still. Instead, my arms punch violently through the air, hitting his shoulders, chest, jaw, thin air, trying to fight my way out of my own body, away from the bloody, lifeless faces inside my head.

 

“Just make it stop, Gale,” I yell, my voice choked, muffled by his shirt, salty tears drenching it as I keep fighting against a phantom,” Please. Just make it stop!”

 

My legs kick into nothingness, feet scratching over the dirty floor of my old bedroom, Gale’s arms pulling me closer against him, murmuring words I can not hear into my ear.

 

“I can’t lie anymore – I just want to be myself and I want to be with you and I want the nightmares to stop,” I sob, strength leaving me slowly, as my limbs start to soften against Gale, his hushed whispers, his hands running up and down my back soothing me, pulling me out of the fiery abyss of memories.

 

“I can’t keep seeing them anymore,” I finally whisper, burying my head in Gale’s chest, hearing his heart beat beneath me, and suddenly I know that if there is one person in this world to hold me together, it is Gale, “It’s my Dad and I keep screaming at him to run but he doesn’t hear me and there’s nothing I can do, and I see Rue – how she’s dying in my arms and I hear myself singing but there’s still nothing I can do. And I hear Cato and the mutts tearing him apart and I see the look on his face before I shot him. I _killed_ him. I killed all of them. All those kids every year. I see them one by one and they ask me why I didn’t save them, why _I_ survived and they didn’t. I just can’t leave here with two children and come back with two coffins anymore. I don’t leave the house because I’m afraid to see their families and that they’ll start asking me why I killed their children. Why I won and their children didn’t.”

 

It is the first time I have ever spoken these words. Admit what is haunting me. What made me run away from the train with Maple and Emrys in their coffins straight to the Hob and buy the first liquor I could find before running here - my old home. Run-down and lifeless. The very thing that destroyed everything Haymitch might have been one day. That reminded me of what became of him over the years. That controlled my hand when I poured the clear liquor out if the shattered window.

 

The dead children. The guilt connected to each of their faces, each of their names.

 

“Katniss,” Gale whispers, his hand running through the loose hair on the top of my head. “That is not your fault. You know that. There’s nothing you can do about those children. You didn’t kill them.”

 

It is the one thing he will not understand. The guilt of bringing these children back home to their parents in coffins. Every year.

 

“I did. I didn’t save them,” I murmur against his chest, still fighting to catch my breath, “Haymitch… I understand him now. Why he is the way he is. But, if I started drinking… it’d just be another lie. Not me. I don’t even know who I really am anymore.”

 

It is why the liquor is now seeping into the ground below the window, and not burning through my system. Knowing that the pain will not vanish because of it.

 

“Have you talked to Haymitch or Peeta about this? They must feel the same,” Gale suggests, and I can hear the hopelessness, the frustration in his words, his fingertips drawing lines across my cheek and jaw now.

 

I sigh against him, a contradicting sound of comfort and abandon. 

 

“You can’t talk to Haymitch about this,” I whisper, “He… never speaks about it. He just drinks it all away.”

 

There is a moment of silence, the rain starting to intensify above us, the drumming becoming louder and louder. It is a bitter song nature is singing, and I wonder for a brief second, how the pale wood of the coffins is now soaking with raindrops.

 

“Peeta?” Gale asks, hesitance and resistance behind his words.

 

“I haven’t had a real conversation with Peeta for years,” I murmur, knowing it is too late to hide anything from Gale anymore. His hand stops moving against my skin, and carefully, he pushes me away from him just enough to look down into my eyes.

 

“What?”

 

It is now or never, the one chance I have to tell him the truth. For a moment, I feel like the sixteen-year-old girl again who felt flutters in her chest when her best friend had kissed her, who had made a decision on a day much colder than this.

 

“I chose you Gale,” I whisper, my voice broken, my eyes fighting not to look away from Gale, “That day Thread… For a second I thought you were going to die and…I knew it was you. I chose you. But… by then it was already too late.”

 

Gale’s eyes are strangely soft as his hand travels up my arm to gently cup my tear-stained cheek.

 

“Too late?” he asks quietly, brushing his thumb over my cheek bone. I close my eyes, trying to imagine a different time, when this could have happened, could have been real. A time in which we would be married to each other and not someone else, in which I could hold his hand, feel his touch. 

 

Warm breath fans over my face before Gale’s lips touch my forehead, smoothing the worry lines between my eyes with his touch. 

 

“It was too late the moment Peeta and I won the Games,” I explain, eyes still closed, as Gale presses his forehead against mine, like he once did before, “We’re victors, Gale. We’re mentors. We’re on television for a few weeks every single year. For a long time.”

 

I open my eyes, meeting Gale’s confused gaze and pull my head back a little.

 

“We’re the star-crossed lovers from District 12 who won he 74th Hunger Games with a cheap trick. We’re on television _every year_ , Gale,” I try to make clear, my voice theatrical and bitter with the hopelessness of the situation, the regret of every poor choice I made that led up to the moment I pulled out the berries in the arena.

 

Gale’s forehead wrinkles in confusion at my words, and silent tears begin to run down my cheeks again, coating his hand. Then, slowly, like a flame ceasing into darkness, the truth dawns, Gale’s eyes widening with realization.

 

“You had to marry him,” he whispers in shock, his hand dropping from my face, “To keep up the act.”

 

“Yes,” I answer, nodding my head, finally giving in to the urge to look away. I focus on my knees instead, waiting for something to happen to break the heavy silence.

 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

 

The vulnerability, the open hurt in Gale’s voice causes me to flinch.

 

“Because everyone was supposed to believe it,” I answer weakly.

 

“But I’m not just-“ Gale starts, anger now rising between us, but I interrupt him before he comes to the wrong conclusions, to mistrust and weakness.

 

“I saved your life, Gale. Nobody must know about this.”

 

My voice is hushed, full of fear as I look into Gale’s eyes with as much force as I can, needing him to understand the depth of this. The consequences.

 

“What?”

 

“The day Peeta and I left for the Victory Tour… President Snow was at my house,” I began to explain, still smelling the rose and the blood, my skin shuddering in disgust, “He… When I pulled out those berries in the arena… I made a lot of people in the Districts believe I was making a move against the Capitol, and there were some uprisings back then.”

 

I saw the surprise in Gale’s eyes. He always had so much more hate against the Capitol than me, at least, a different hate. More rebellious. The idea of uprising ignites a fire in his eyes I have not seen in a long time.

 

“So… Snow wanted to make sure I make _everyone_ believe I really just did it out of love for Peeta,” I continued, the next words heavy on my lips, a fear that haunted me from that very day, “And he…threatened to kill my family, yours… you.”

 

Gale’s face becomes a shade paler, and I take hold of his hands, intertwining my fingers with his, “He knew about that kiss.”

 

I can almost see the memories of that day flash in Gale’s eyes as vivid as they are to me. His warmth, the feeling of his lips, the despair and urgency.

 

“There must have been cameras. He… threatened to take everything from me. So, the only thing I could do was-“

 

“Marry Peeta.”

 

The bitterness in Gale’s voice and eyes, the way he suddenly grasps my fingers tighter, are like a mirror of my own mind back then, when I still had enough fire inside of me to rebel against what life – what the Capitol – was throwing at me, although, even back then, there had been nothing else for me to do but give in.

 

“And make everyone believe I did it out of love,” I add, somehow needing to reassure Gale again that he had been my choice. His eyes are like stones, burning themselves into my soul, but his fingers move gently against my hand. Slowly, he closes the distance between us again, our foreheads touching, breaths mingling as the rain now pours down on the roof.

 

“I thought I could do that,” I whisper in despair, “But… it makes me sick, Gale. We live in the same house, we sleep in the same bed, I have to lie to every single person I know. You, my mother, Prim. Everyone.”

 

Gale’s right hand gently removes itself from my grasp, stroking softly up my arm until it rests at my neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its way.

 

“I have no place to be myself anymore. To love you. Peeta is great, he’s… a good man. There are far worse people to have to be married to. But… he’s not you.”

 

A broken, humourless laugh escapes Gale as I repeat his earlier words, and he looks at me with sadness in his eyes, his fingertips drawing across the skin of my neck.

 

“Catnip,” he whispers, leaning closer. My eyes fall shut on their own accord, and for the first time in a time so long I do not remember the beginning, I see no haunting faces in the darkness, as Gale’s lips gently meet mine.

 

It is nothing more than a feather-light brush of skin, not the kiss of two children in love with each other, not the kiss of two people who are unsure about the future, not an angst-filled kiss of secret lovers. We are over. We never were. And for the rest of our lives, we would never be. It is a kiss of resentment, exhaustion, finality. The kiss of two people never given a chance.

 

A faint whimper in the back of my throat as Gale tangles his fingers in my hair breaks us apart, slowly, foreheads still resting together, eyes still closed. 

 

“I wish I had agreed when you asked me to run away,” I whisper against Gale’s lips, the weight of the regret finally easing a little.

 

Another broken laughter. Somehow I know he remembers that day as clearly as I do. That day everything changed.

 

“You know we couldn’t have taken all the kids.”

 

His words cut deep, and suddenly, it’s Peeta’s face I see in front of me. His careful words that echo in my memory.

 

“There’ll have to be kids soon,” I whisper along the hammering of the rain drops, pulling out of Gale’s embrace reluctantly, disgusted with myself.

 

“What?” Gale asks, his hand reaching out for mine. I don’t take it.

 

“Peeta and I. We talked about it. It’ll have to happen. Soon. We’ve been married a while,” I explain, and when I see the utter disbelief on Gale’s face, I quickly add, “People have to be entertained.”

 

His features harden, his hand drops into his lap, and I feel the brick wall between us building again.

 

“You’re talking as if you’re still a-“

 

“Part of the Games? I am. I’ll always be.”

 

As the words leave us in another silence, I realize I never admitted this fact to myself this clearly before. That I am just a device of the Capitol. That the Games will never end.

 

Tearing down whatever barrier the Games have set up between us, I crawl forward, back into Gale’s arms, wrapping my own around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder.

 

“There’s got to be a way to-“ Gale begins with despair in his voice, and it hurts to hear him like this, trying to make something right he played no part in destroying.

 

“No. There isn’t,” I interrupt him before he delves too deeply into plans he could never turn into reality, ”I want to be with you so badly, Gale. I just want to be free. But I’m just their puppet.”

 

We sit there for a while, wrapped up in each other, breathing, hearts beating. For a short moment, it seems real to me. A life with Gale.

 

“Peeta. What does he-“ Gale begins to whisper, but I know the question. The answer is yet another source of guilt.

 

“He loves me. Marrying me was… It was real for him, I guess,” I sigh, trying hard to push away the guilt of not returning those honest, caring, affectionate feelings. Instead, I pull myself deeper into Gale’s embrace, gently kiss his neck, feeling him shudder beneath my light touch..

 

“But… He knows that I don’t feel the same way about him. He keeps away. He doesn’t push. He’s there, but he’s not trying. Not anymore.”

 

Memories of stolen kisses, dropped hands and unreturned embraces fight their way into my conscience, the disappointment in Peeta’s eyes, the same bitterness.

 

“What do _you_ feel?” Gale asks, kissing the top of my head.

 

I hesitate, the question unexpected, the answer hidden in a place inside of me that always seems out of my reach.

 

“I love him,” I finally admit, pulling back to look into Gale’s eyes, “And with time, I’ll learn to be _in_ love with him. If I don’t want to be lonely forever, that’s the only chance I have. But I’ll never feel for him the way he feels for me.”

 

Gale nods slowly, his eyes somehow not really looking at me, and I wonder, if maybe he can see the girl he once fell in love with somewhere in my eyes. If she is still there.

 

“Or the way I feel for you,” I add, quickly closing the distance between us to press my lips against Gale’s again, more urgent this time, proving that with him, the fire inside of me still has air to burn.

 

His hands cup my face, and I feel the faintly familiar flutter in my belly, the shiver running down my spine, life seeping into me, until we break apart again.

 

“I love you, Gale,” I whisper against his lips, more sure of it now than ever before.

 

Gale smiles faintly, securing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

 

“You never said that before.”

 

“I know.”

 

His arms wrap around me again, holding me together as I rest my head in the crook of his neck, my own hands grasping the fabric of his shirt to hold on. My eyes fall close, and I know that our time is up, that the rain will not wash away our traces. That somewhere in the distance, all the lies of my life await me.

 


End file.
